Well, I don’t think it’s anything to be ashamed of, and in fact, I suggest that you ask it more often.

“Listen, you prick. I have no problem cutting your head off. Well, maybe, I would die before I got the whole thing off with THIS knife. But, I would happily stab you right in the chest, you little lazy bitch. Are you afraid to die, HUH? Yeah, WELL make the best of this day, because IF YOU DON’T … you’re going to have to answer for it again tomorrow. Oh, what? Life is pointless? Did you say that AGAIN? If you don’t CREATE A POINT … then, I am going to KILL YOU.”

Everyone is different. But, it helps me to look at this banner:

If you do not have balls & would like me to write an inspirational banner specific to your own genitalia, then I am at your service for 50 american dollars per word. HERE TO HELP!!!!

Time to swap over to Islam then … instead of sitting on a cloud plucking a boring old harp for eternity you get all the wine you can guzzle and (I think it is) forty gorgeous damsels out to please your every whim …

Me, hell yes. My wife already has her orders if it comes to that. Same thing for her. If there is no standard of life, and no chance of recovery, then that’s it. I’m sure such a moment will be desperately difficult, but if the person is suffering we must do everything in our power to alleviate that pain.

Because I am a nosy son of a bitch … not all ladies like the balls shaved. Cause then they look like little boy balls and that would make me feel like a pedophile. Vagina’s are different. No one wants a fur-bikini on that. In other news, can we just settle on a solid $50 for my own entire banner?

On a more serious note, I worried that I would become suicidal after losing my faith in God.

While I was still Mormon I suffered from severe depression. I even had my suicide planned out, but never did it because I believed that I would go to hell if I did. I thought, “I’m not stupid, this is awful, but hell would be worse.”

I have a lot more reasons for living nowadays. I love my university course and I love writing. I’ve worked hard and I feel like I’m close to seeing it pay off.

I worried about the same thing. And, this post is absurd, but it came from a genuine place. A strange reaction takes place when I simultaneously take life/death in my own hands. I don’t think it’s healthy to see suicide as a cowardly alternative to life, but as a genuine, perhaps even courageous option.

I think all the time, surely it would be more logical to kill myself. I think about the reasons I have for living and then say to myself, “Yeah, but if you were dead you wouldn’t care about those things, and you wouldn’t have to worry about being disappointed.”

Sorry for such lengths, I could no longer quote from memory but had to look it up. (If I gotta suffer, why not every one else?)—

To be, or not to be—that is the question.
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to; ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep—
To sleep, perchance to dream, ay, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause; there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others we know not of?
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action …
— William Shakespeare

The bit about “what dreams may come” etc coupled with your own musings above suggest second thoughts, no?

Could you do me the genuine favor of saying if this post should or shouldn’t be offensive to women? It is never my intention to be insensitive, Seth Macfarlane style, but sometimes I have a hint of concern that it might be taken that way.

It is always my intention to break down attitudes, never to reinforce stereotypes.

What a weird post. I particularly liked the picture with the knife, and detail about the state of yours and John’s balls. Unfortunately in my background poorly chosen radio station Mariah Carey is wailing about ‘making the most of life … and now Beck is saying he’s not afraid to cry, so I’m unable to comment. Something about you never know what’s round the corner and you don’t get another chance, and trite phrases like that. It’s useful to feel your mortality though.